


Burnt Toast, Sundays

by Lesty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Don’t copy to another site, M/M, NOT endgame compliant, Not Beta Read, Post-Endgame, That's it, Tony needs eggs so he can make pancakes, but on steroids or as if J.R.R Tolkein wrote it, seriously this was written before the movie came out, so I could live out my idealistic dream of the mcu avengers living in the fifth avenue mansion, take your pick, that's the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-16 12:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesty/pseuds/Lesty
Summary: Tony stared at the bike as it spluttered pathetically on the side of the road. He had to admit, when he woke up deciding he was going to have pancakes, he didn't see his morning turning out quite like this.Dammit. All he wanted were some goddamn pancakes, and this was turning into a Tolkein like quest.--In which Tonyreallywants to make some pancakes, Steve wants some eggs, and somehow, they find love instead.





	Burnt Toast, Sundays

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> So, I've got to be honest, I'm not really sure where this fic came from. I've been creatively dry for the past couple of months, but I really wanted to contribute to the Cap-IM Endgame Countdown. So, I scourged through all my hard drives for something that could give me inspiration and I came across a 200 word drabble poking fun at my best friends perpetual cravings for pancakes, and it kinda expanded into this. (It was also orignally supposed to be like, 1k long, but then it turned into this so... yeah)
> 
> A huge shout out to the Cap-Iron Man Community Mods for basically just being the best. They've organised this event (and pretty much every other one) and they're the kindest. I was a bit nervous in getting involved in this event, and they've been so welcoming and really helped me with all my questions and doubts. They're the real mvp's here <3 
> 
> As of posting this, there's currently 2 days to go until endgame's world premiere!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> PS. I apologise in advance, I know literally nothing about motorbikes
> 
> The title comes from the Taylor Swift song "[You Are in Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgL0t6nu-Mo)" =)

Pancakes.  
  
Tony wanted pancakes.

Splayed out like a starfish on his bed, he rolled over to check the time; 7am, heaps of time. He couldn’t remember when he’d collapsed into bed. He figured it was early to have ended up here. How long had he spent in the lab? It didn’t matter, he was in bed now and-

His stomach growled.  
  
He wanted pancakes.

“Hey FRI,” he asked, lying back into his previous position. “Is there anywhere that delivers pancakes?”

“There is a restaurant called ‘Mighty Cakes’ in Sydney, Australia that delivers in their general vicinity,” FRIDAY replied. Tony could have sworn there was a hint of amusement in the AI’s voice. Good.

Tony rolled eyes. “You know what I mean.”  
  
“Unfortunately Boss, there are no specific restaurants in New York that delivers pancakes at this hour on a Sunday morning. I believe ‘Mighty Cakes’ may be the only place to do so.”

Tony was agog, he was aghast. “That’s an absolute travesty FRI, how can nowhere deliver pancakes?”

“If you would like Boss, I could look through Uber’s archives and database,” she said, bringing up a hologram list in front of Tony. “I could find places that serve pancakes, and have a partnership with Uber Eats.”

Tony waved a hand in the air, his arm dangling above him like a tree. “No, no, I won’t support a company that takes advantage of their employees like that,” with a groan, he sat up, blinking at the darkness in his room. “I’ll just make some then.”

He pulled himself out of bed as FRIDAY continued. “Boss, I don’t believe we have eggs.”  
  
Tony paused. “Eggs? We don’t have… _eggs?_ ”

“Or flour, Boss.”

Tony collapsed back into bed.

“Or flour.” He whispered, his brain at an absolute loss. How on Earth did he exist in a place that didn’t have the basic ingredients for pancakes? Tony frowned into the darkness. What could he do, how could he get his pancakes?

There was a corner store at the end of the street, but was it worth the trip? He would have to get dressed up, sunglasses, a hat, a baggy hoodie, the whole works. His scratched his chin, his beard was shaggy and somewhat outgrown after days in the lab. He could pull off a disguise. On a Sunday morning his demeanour could easily be excused for a hangover.

He could even buy some orange juice.

“FRI, do I have some cash anywhere?”

“Not to my knowledge Boss, I believe the last time you had cash was when you hoped the girl scouts would come with some cookies.”

Ah – _that_. He’d heard from Pepper that one of the employees – Margaret, had her daughter’s girl scout group coming to the mansion to sell cookies for some fundraiser or another. Tony prepared the workshop, gathering a variety of chemicals to create different coloured flames to entertain them, the cookies were just a bonus.

The girls however, had all been much too intimidated to even talk to him. As they had wandered the mansion, delighting in the other Avengers, they hadn’t come near him. Tony tried not to be surprised by that, he’d thought that maybe he had changed his image somewhat, in recent years, but obviously not.

He had pretended that he wasn’t disappointed, and Natasha had bought him a couple of boxes of cinnamon cookies – how she remembered those were his favourite, he didn’t want to ask, but, it wasn’t what he’d been excited about in the first place.

But it was okay. He wouldn’t dwell on that.

“Do you remember what I did with-”  
  
Tony paused, squinting as he tracked his movements in his mind.

Ah, right.

He “-gave the money to Margaret for the fundraiser,” FRIDAY said, “It was more than enough to pay for their trip to France.”

Tony smiled softly, he knew FRIDAY added that fact just to soften the blow. “Good, good. Education is important.”

Tony pointedly ignored the way his heart sunk as he sat back onto his bed. All he wanted was some goddamn pancakes and here he was thinking about how even children feared him.

Was he really _that_ untouchable?

“Does the corner store at the end of the street still take card?”

“By all accounts it should do Boss,” Friday said. “However if you are planning on going out, wouldn’t it be more convenient to just buy some pancakes?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I happen to be a pretty decent chef FRI, besides, making pancakes is a _process,_ it staves the hunger and you enjoy them more.”

Ana had been integral in Tony’s ability to cook, without her, he doubted he’d be able to even use a toaster effectively. Sure, cooking was basically just edible chemistry, but Ana had taught him the tricks that came with it, how to turn something good, into something incredible. She had, had no children of her own, so Tony had inherited her wisdom, and he had always been grateful for that. He ran a thumb over his cheek bone, the way she had done so often all those years ago. Tony missed her, he missed all the Jarvis’s.

He rubbed over the phantom pain where his heart surgery had occurred all those years ago, willing the ache of loss to subside. Sometimes he wished there was something permanent there besides the scar, something to explain away his emotions so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge them.

He ran his hand along his chest, trailing the various scarring from all the different events that had gone through in the last ten or so years. The sharp nicks from the shrapnel, the raised angry network of veins from the palladium poisoning, and the jagged curve of Steve’s shield.

Not that Tony would think about that _now_.

Because pancakes, that was the important thing right now.

Tony dragged himself out of bed – again, and stumbled towards his walk in closet. He pulled on his nearest hoodie – which was left dangling on the back of the closets door, and a pair of pants that were left in the corner beside them.  The hoodie was his old ratty MIT one – well, it was Rhodey’s technically, but Tony had stolen it and so by law it was rightfully his now.

Well, Tony’s law.

Which in this case, was definitely valid.

“Right,” Tony said, grabbing his wallet and sunglasses by his bedside table. “Let’s make some pancakes.”

The early morning air was rather cold, and Tony was grateful that his getup included a hoodie. The streets were calm at this hour, so Tony was free to be more at ease. He passed a pair of teenagers sitting on the curb whilst waiting for the bus, and so pulled his cap lower on his head and readjusted his the hood to conceal his face. It was odd seeing anyone out this early, especially in Manhattan at 7am on a Sunday, but FRIDAY – through his glasses, told him that they weren’t a threat. Their heartrates were normal and they seemed at ease.

Tony let out a breath and passed them inconspicuously, the kids didn’t so much as glance his way.

Huh. Maybe this standoffish behaviour was why kids hated him.

No, no.

His pancake cravings were making him act like this, that’s all.

The corner store was unique for Manhattan, it was similar to the bodega’s out in Washington Heights than the kind of stores around this part of town, but Tony had always been grateful for this place. It had been here for as long as Tony had remembered, and lovely Jewish man who owned it had set up the perfect snack aisle for a small four year old to get lost inside of.

Tony loved it.

The bell clattered as he opened the door, the cold air billowing in behind his as he entered the warm store. A tired head perked up at the counter. “Hey there! What can I do for you?”

Tony smiled at her, he recognised the kid immediately. It was hard to forget the girl who made a serval hour journey every Sunday to Manhattan from New Jersey because ‘it’s closer to where the Avengers are!’.

“I just need your typical ingredients for pancakes,” Tony said. Kamala smiled but it was forced, her heartrate elevated – _oh_. She was nervous because he was blatantly trying to hide his identity, “and pretty much anything else I reckon will help this hangover.” Tony added.

She hummed, her heart rate dropping. “I could get you some Advil? It’s out the back. I’ve heard orange juice is good too – not that I, um, get hangovers or anything, I don’t – I don’t drink, but I’ve heard it’s common knowledge, so I guess you would know that already, but, well, it’s there.”

Tony chuckled despite himself, she was sweet. “Advil sounds good, thanks.”

Grinning, she slid out from the register and ran to the back of the store. Tony walked through the aisles aimlessly, gathering what he needed and soaking in the nostalgia of his childhood. Of all his years on earth, this store had barely changed. The yellow paint was peeling off the walls, the lights in the ceiling flickered sporadically, the constant smell of disinfectant permeated the air, and it was _safe_.

Gentrification would have swallowed this place up decades ago, but Tony was a nostalgic thing, and was glad to save this piece for Fifth Avenue.

And it’s not like the Spector’s would actually ever find out that it was _Tony_ who bought the place for them.

“I’ve got your drugs!” Kamala cried as she emerged from the back of the store. “Well – the Advil, not illegal stuff, we don’t do that, I don’t either. Don’t do illegal stuff.”

Tony grinned as he arrived to the counter. “Noted.”

Kamala scanned the items. “Would you like a bag for these?”  
  
“Yes, thank you, that’d be good.”  
  
Kamala nodded. “I can put the eggs in a separate one? And have a bag for the milk and flour, and a bag for the juice? It should make it easier to carry.”

Tony’s heart melted, this girl was so kind. “Whatever’s easiest for you, honestly. I don’t have that far of a walk.”

Kamala shrugged like it was nothing, taking three bags out and packing them with ease. “Alright, so with tax, your total’s $19.90.”

Tony pulled out his card. “Yup, that’ll be with card today, thanks.”

Her face pulled into a frown. “Oh sir, um, we’re only taking cash right now. The eftpos machine is down – my friend’s coming over a bit later to fix it, but um, until then, it’s cash,” she looked rather sheepish, “there’s a sign on the door.”

Tony almost groaned, but contained it, it wasn’t her fault that the machine wasn’t working. Tony almost offered to fix it then and there, but knew it probably wouldn’t go down well if a customer tried to fix an eftpos machine out of the blue.

Tony placed his wallet on the table. “Okay, I’ll put these back so it doesn’t hassle you, then I’ll go to an ATM.”

Kamala frowned further. “You could just… walk out of the store though…”

Tony shook his head, his heart sinking. God he was terrible with kids, of course she assumed he was going to steal it. “Nah, I’ll leave my wallet here, it’s not like I can leave without it.”  
  
“Huh,” Kamala said, before smiling. “Well, thanks then! You could just leave it to the side, it’d be faster for you when you get back.”  
  
Tony shook his head, collecting the bags, and whilst putting things away, called out. “It’s a bunch of cold stuff, wouldn’t want it to spoil.”

“Yeah that’s true.” Kamala said.

“Besides, this place is so close to Avengers Mansion,” Tony said as he walked back up to the counter. “What if one of them comes in wanting to make pancakes?”

Kamala instantly brightened. “Honestly, that’s why I work here in the first place, can you imagine meeting them?”

Tony lowered his glasses and took a moment to revel as the recognition grew on her face. “Yeah, I kinda can imagine it.”

He took his wallet and winked, sliding his glasses onto his face and walking out.

He hoped he’d made her somewhat happier. Besides, he’d be coming back, once he could find some cash.

“FRI,” Tony said, his voice low, “where’s the nearest ATM machine?”

“The nearest one is about a block and a half away, Boss.”

 _Dammit_. All he wanted were some goddamn pancakes, and this was turning into a Tolkein like quest.

“Boss, if I may,” FRIDAY said in his ear, “Captain Rogers always carries at least $100 in cash.”

Tony paused on his slow trek back to the mansion. Steve? Tony hadn’t asked Steve for any favours since Thanos, but that was a _life and death_ kind of deal, that kind of warranted a favour.

But a _personal one…_ Tony hadn’t asked for a personal favour since, well, since the whole accords mess. Which hadn’t turned out so great, if the scarring in his chest was any indication.

Tony focused on his gut, thinking about asking Steve for a favour, asking him for anything, didn’t cause his chest to tighten with worry. There was no invisible cord slinking it’s way into his lungs and cutting off air supply, and there was no rock growing and hardening in his gut. He was completely… _fine_ with the prospect of asking for a favour.

It’s funny, what perspective does to person. Before Thanos, Tony wouldn’t of gone near Steve – he _hadn’t_ gone near him. The most communication he had, had with Steve was through proxy with Vision and Wanda, to help set up their little rendezvous. The accords, Siberia, his parents… Steve had almost broken Tony, and it had taken so long, and taken so much work, to bring himself to a sense of, not ease necessarily, but complacency moving forward with his life.

And as much as he had cared about Steve, Tony had known that his life wouldn’t include the other man again.

Then Thanos happened, and Tony held Peter _in his arms as he died._ Tony had lived with that, _still_ lives with that. Peter has always been such a strong, enduring, good force, who has been infinitely better and more capable than Tony could ever hope to be. It made Tony fucking proud that he got to not only witness that, but also be part of Peters growth as both a person, and a hero. 

So, honestly, Siberia seemed so trivial now, that it didn’t really matter. Tony had moved on, and it was no longer a place in his life that held any sort of weight to him.

Which was mostly a good thing, considering the Avengers now lived with him in his childhood home on Fifth Avenue.

Tony sighed as he arrived at the front gate. Yeah, he could ask Steve for a favour.

 

~*~

 

Tony found Steve in the kitchen, his head buried inside the fridge. “Sorry,” Tony said in lieu of a hello, “We don’t have eggs.”

Steve poked his head up, his eyes meeting Tony’s. “Oh, hey Tony. We really don’t have eggs?”  
  
Tony shook his head, sliding into one of the counter chairs. “I went out to get some – but the corner store is only taking cash, of which I have zilch.”  
  
“Huh.” Steve said, slightly defeated. “Wait, how did you know I was looking for eggs?”  
  
Tony raised an eyebrow. “It’s Sunday, Steve. On Sundays you always have over easy eggs on toast at 7:30 in the morning, and it’s 7:20 now.”

Steve gave Tony an odd look that Tony couldn’t quite decipher. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I normally do.”  
  
“Actually, speaking of eggs, I have a favour to ask…” Tony said, biting the bullet and just spitting it out.

Steve face fell a fraction, before he twisted it into what Tony supposed Steve _thought_ was a welcoming smile. Tony swallowed nervously, of course the guy wasn’t comfortable with helping Tony out, they didn’t have the best track record.

“I really want to make pancakes but we’re out of pretty much everything we need to make them, but I don’t have cash and FRIDAY said you carried some on you…”  
  
Steve looked rightfully puzzled, Tony had never actually _had_ to ask for money a day in his life – which probably said a lot about him that Tony didn’t want to acknowledge at this hour in the morning. “You’re asking me… for money?” Steve said.  
  
Tony screwed up his face, it sounded so… _crude_. “Well, not like that, but, well, yes, I am. I just need a 20, and I can transfer you the money back like, right now, I just need cash basically and I can’t be bothered walking a block and a half to the nearest ATM machine.”

Steve hummed. “Well, actually, if we have no eggs, there’s always the markets?”  
  
“The Markets?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, they have the best eggs. Emine, the woman who sells them, sometimes she gives me a half price discount if I’m charming enough, it’s actually rather sweet.”

“Huh.” Tony said, because he didn’t really know how to reply to that. The markets were somewhere he had admittedly, never been to before, Tony had, had no need to go there. He wasn’t really sure what to expect, or what to bring, or what to wear. Would his disguise be enough, should he shave, would he need to – _wait_.

“Are you asking me to go to the markets with you?”

Steve’s eyes grew slightly. “Oh, well, only if you want -,” he sighed, “Yes, I am. Do you want to come to the markets with me?”

“Uh…” Tony’s brain short circuited. This had _never_ happened before, ever, in their entire lives, in their entire time knowing each other, Tony and Steve had never spent time together like this before. Sure, they would watch movies, or play board games, but that was always in group settings.

And that had always been part of the problem, hadn’t it.

Tony and Steve had certainly been friends, Tony could say that with certainty now. The things they had gone through together, the work they had done together, the things they had caused both because of that and despite it, that had cemented a relationship that would always be important to Tony. They _were_ friends.

And because of that, Tony had _always_ cared about Steve. Perhaps, at a time, Tony felt more than that, wanted more than just friendship – and maybe, sometimes, Tony ignored that niggling thought at the back of his mind, or that feeling low in his gut, that suggested he still wanted that, but that would never have been the case.

They had never allowed themselves to grow comfortable around each other, not to an extent that actually mattered. They got to know each other on a surface level, and never gave each other the opportunity to understand each other, make mistakes and amend them, and give them another go.

Tony had always wanted Steve to care about him like Tony cared about Steve, but they had never allowed it. Tony’s hand ghosted over the long curved scar across his chest. A morning alone with Steve would be intimidating, confusing, and… _brilliant_.

“We don’t have to Tony, it was only an idea-”

“Yes,” Tony said, interrupting Steve. He swallowed, composing himself, “No, yeah, that sounds good.”

Steve grinned at him, and his face lit up. “Oh that’s great – let me get changed and we can drive over?”

Tony swallowed. _Drive?_

~*~

 

Tony had decided to dump the disguise, and cleaned up his appearance. He ditched his beloved hoodie for a t-shirt Peter had gotten him from Wall-Mart (it had a cool design on it, and Peter had gotten it for him, so of course he loved it), and threw on a blazer and trousers. He even shaved, and styled his hair.

There. He was presentable to the public now.

He jogged to the garage, hoping to beat Steve there and take hold of one of his cars. If Tony was there first, there wouldn’t be any awkward ‘oh but let me drive’ conversations, and Tony really didn’t want to have to deal with that.

Tony was unsuccessful.

Steve was leaning against a bench, his eyes glued to his phone. Huh, that wasn’t a sight Tony had ever expected. “Who knew old men could get a handle on decent technology,” Tony quipped as he walked in, swallowing his nerves.

Steve chuckled, slipping his phone into his pocket. Tony envied him, Steve was so clearly comfortable, it made Tony squirm. “Yeah, well, this guy I know made this newfangled device easier to use, probably because he’s getting older himself.”

“Oh hardy-har,” Tony said, a small grin tugging on his lips, it was almost surreal to be bantering like this, but Tony found he rather enjoyed it, it was almost like old times. “At least this old man wasn’t taught how to use tech.”  
  
“I’d hope not,” Steve said. “Because you’ve worked so hard to improve your understanding of your tech, and improve the quality of your work, I wouldn’t want that to be cheapened by the idea that someone just handed that to you. You work hard Tony, it’s amazing.”

Tony blinked, absorbing what Steve had said. He took a moment to process it, to recognise the change of tone, how sincere Steve had been. Steve had complimented him, not necessarily on his intelligence, but on how he utilises his intelligence and improves on it, which was –  _wow_.

Tony wasn’t sure how he felt, but the idea that Steve saw him as a man who didn’t gallantly scream he was a genius, but actually backed it up with – frankly, incredible work that spoke for itself, the knowledge that Steve recognised that in him; it was rather touching. It was also strange, and not something Tony wanted to analyse too closely, but he found he liked it.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean to go too far or anything.”  
  
“No, no you didn’t,” Tony said with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Steve’s gaze fell onto Tony’s clothes for a moment. “Do you often wear this to the markets?” He asked. In any other circumstance Tony would be affronted – he dressed well thank you, but Steve sounded genuinely curious, not accusatory.

“Truth be told, I’ve never been.”  
  
Steve’s face fell with shock. “Seriously? _I’m_ introducing _you_ to something new?”

Tony chuckled. “Seems like it.”

“This feels almost like it’s an historic moment. Steve Rogers is introducing Tony Stark to something new in the 21st Century.”

“Yeah and maybe after this we can do that Star Wars marathon you promised me.”

Steve cocked his head to the side, a look of hope on Steve’s face.

No, it couldn’t be hope, that would be ridiculous.

But Tony had no other way to describe that look.

“You told me we had to watch Lord of the Rings first,” Steve said. “I want to understand why you made ‘Legolas’ Clint’s callsign.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s because I liked him enough to not make it Katniss, and we all knew the Hunger Games craze was going to die,” Tony paused for a moment, he couldn’t believe he was suggesting this, he wasn’t even sure if he was serious. “Before we watch Lord of the Rings though, we need to watch the Hobbit Trilogy.”  
  
“When did those come out?”  
  
“Oh, they were releasing those after you came out.”  
  
Steve groaned. “There’s so much to keep up with.”  
  
“We’ll get through it.”  
  
Steve gave him a look that suddenly weighted the room, added weight to the words Tony had just spoken, suddenly, it didn’t seem like there were talking about movies anymore. “We will?”  
  
Tony gave a small smile, feeling – well, feeling more optimistic than he had in a while. “Yeah Steve, we will.”

Tony clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “So, are we ready to go on this historic world changing Steve-Rogers-Is-Introducing-Tony-Stark-To-Something-New-In-The-21st-Century adventure?”

“That’s how you’re going to the markets?” Steve asked, again, his tone inexplicably curious, like he couldn’t quite believe Tony was serious.

“Totally, this is exactly the kind of thing every one should wear to the markets, Wall-Mart t-shirts are great. I’m starting a trend.”

“…And you chose… I want to say office casual?”

Tony glanced down at his clothes in confusion, then back at Steve. “What do you mean? This is my _normal_ casual.”

Steve shook his head, smiling fondly. “Only you would wear a blazer and think it’s casual.”

“And who are you to judge my clothing choices, Mr. I-Only-Own-The-Same-Three-T-Shirts-And-They’re-All-Two-Sizes-Too-Small?”

Steve looked down at his shirt. “It’s snug, not small.”

Tony swallowed, forcing himself not to follow Steve’s gaze, the last thing Tony needed was Steve to notice that he was not so subtly checking him out.

And the shirt was _tight._

“Please Steve, that shirt is so small that I’m sure it could have originally been mine.”

Steve flushed slightly, which was…

Something Tony wasn’t going to be paying attention to, no siree, not at all.

“You’d have to ask Natasha, she designated herself in charge of my clothing in 2012.”

Tony snorted, that explained a lot. “I’m not even surprised if I’m honest.”

“Well it was either that or letting some Shield agent I didn’t know take charge,” Steve shrugged, giving a ruthful grin. “So in hindsight it was probably a good thing I took her up on her offer.”  
  
“Oh yeah of course,” Tony snarked good naturedly. “Hydra’s most evil property is it’s fashion.”

“Well,” Steve said. “You didn’t see them in the forties, forget the tesseract or the… Nazi stuff, their clothing alone made them evil enough. It was depressingly awful.”

“Oh, so nothing changed then?” Tony said. “I remember Stern.”

Steve snorted. “You never met Pierce though, he was worse.”

“Eh, I’ve seen photo’s,” Tony said, he wandered over to one of his car’s, at this moment he didn’t really care which one he drove, he just wanted to be the one driving. “So barring my exceptional style,” he patted the hood of his Maserati. “We ready to go?”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… I kind of had a different idea of getting us there.”  
  
Tony frowned, his heart leaping into his throat. “A different idea? Besides driving?”

Steve coughed, almost like he was self-conscious, and gestured to the garage door where a –

No.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

Steve’s motorbike.

There were a lot of things that went through Tony’s mind in that moment. He didn’t let anyone drive him – ever. Not since his parents died, and certainly not since Afghanistan. Sure, he’d make an exception here and there, Happy could drive him sometimes; if it was important enough, so could Rhodey. Other than that though, no, he couldn’t.

And a _bike_ of all things? That would put them incredibly close together. Tony would be putting his life into Steve’s hands, with no metal around him in case they crashed. There would be nothing to protect him but a blue cashmere blazer and a Wall-Mart shirt.

Steve would be able to hear Tony’s shallow, nervous breaths, _feel_ Tony heart in his ribcage. Tony would be completely exposed, there would be nothing separating the pair except the leather jacket that Steve was slipping into.

“Um, I don’t…”

Steve held out his hand, and Tony almost had flashbacks. “Do you trust me?”

Tony swallowed, this was…

“Sorry, I didn’t mean, not like that, it’s-”

“Yes,” Tony said, suddenly, because he did, didn’t he? Even after everything, Tony would always trust Steve, because Steve trusted him. Taking a deep breath, Tony took Steve’s hand. “I trust you.”  
  
Steve swallowed, then smiled tentatively at Tony. “Good, that’s, that’s good.”

“Although,” Tony said, walking up to Steve. “We’re driving out from Manhattan, that’s a lot of congestion.”

“But then it’s nothing but winding country roads,” Steve said, handing Tony a helmet. “And there’s no thrill like that.”

 

~*~

 

Tony had to admit, Steve’s lovingly restored 1942 Harley-Davidson WLA Liberator was unbelievable, _it was incredible,_ like poetry in motion.

It was unlike anything Tony had ever experienced before. He had never felt more alert, more alive. He was so acutely attuned to the environment around him, it was as though FRIDAY had entered his consciousness. The sights, the sounds, the smells, _everything_ was engaging him. It was like he was in the suit, except he had no barrier against the outside world, not metal hugging his body, protecting him.

In the suit or in a car, Tony could get lost in his surroundings, but they were in a frame in front of him, this picturesque painting that he could appreciate from afar, he was nothing more than just a passive observer. But here, with his front pressed into Steve’s back, that frame was gone – he was part of the scene.

Tony could feel the friction of the bitumen road 5 inches below his foot. It was so blurry he couldn’t focus on it, yet it was _there_ , and if he wanted, he could put his foot down and touch it at any time. They weren’t just travelling, they weren’t just moving through the world, Tony could experience, feel, and taste every nuance of the environment. The world wasn’t just a painting in front of him, the world moved _with_ him.

Steve took a sharp turn, leaning to the left. It was exhilarating, as though they were defying gravity. Tony could lean his face forward and let his nose graze the road, if he wanted to. He could see the little cracks and splits in the bitumen that showed it’s age, he could taste the dust and smell the burning gravel, singeing his nose. It was like flying, but on the ground, with his arms wrapped securely around Steve.

Tony whooped, excitement tingling down his arms and adrenaline pumping through his heart. He could hear Steve laugh in front of him as they cut through the country side, screaming down the road. Tony breathed in deeply, letting the winds bite his face and pierce his skin. Steve smelt of vanilla, motor oil, and the country air around them. He could feel Steve’s heart hammering in his chest, and was sure his own heart was the same.

Tony felt… _free_. Like all the baggage that he carried with him, his doubts, his insecurities, his inherent anguish fly away, into the wind behind him. There wasn’t anything out here that Tony wasn’t connected too. The heat of the sun on his back, the cold of the winds on his face, the warmth of Steve’s back on his chest, the smell of vanilla and grass. It was a total, and complete unification of his mind, body, and soul, and it was spiritually uplifting. Nothing else mattered.

He hadn’t thought there was anything better than flying in the armour, the freedom of being in the skies, the ability to go anywhere, as fast as he wanted, but this, this rivalled it. There was a visceral difference between driving a car, comfortable inside it, and being propelled upon a motorbike, holding on while it goes about its own existence, carrying you forward.

That was the difference between this, and his armour. Tony, in the armour, had full control, from the way it turned, moved, flew, and existed. Steve’s motorbike, on the other hand, was almost like it was a beast of its own, allowing them upon it out of it’s own goodwill. Tony was a passenger, completely at the will of Steve and his bike.

All too soon it was over, as Steve slowed them down to a stop. The engines was deafening, it’s roar consuming Tony’s senses. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it earlier, it was as though every single thing that had heightened Tony’s senses, had at the same time, blocked out the incessant wailing that was overriding his senses now.

Even from the bike the market seemed busy. Packs of cars lined the carpark and people seemed to mill in between them like they were suburb streets, parents chatting as children played, couples eating as they wandered back to their car. It was less like a carpark, and more like a communal gathering point, that just so happened to have cars.

Steve pulled them into a bay right beside the entrance of the marketplace, and switched the engine off. “This is why I wanted to take the bike, parking’s terrible here.”

Tony braced himself on Steve’s shoulders – forcing himself to ignore how they felt under his hands, and pulled himself off the bike. His legs buckled underneath him and he lost his balance, stumbling into the ground.

Well –  almost into the ground.

Tony was pulled from the concrete below, an arm wound around his torso and another around hand his chest, clutching Tony’s shoulder. The world shifted around him, like it was physically shifting to an upright position in front of his very eyes. His legs, which had been weak just a second earlier, buckled beneath him, but still they stabilised.

Tony took a shallow breath, suddenly peculiarly conscious of the way he was wrapped in his big, strong arms, which seemed very protective, secure. Tony felt surprisingly at ease in them.

Steve had caught him.

“Oh…” Tony breathed, because he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t have anything to say, but he knew he needed to say something.

It was almost as if the rest of the world had melted away.

He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it before, but Steve’s eyes were just _incredible_. Zemo had been right, up this close, there was some green in the blue of Steve’s eyes. But saying that his eyes were green and blue was like saying the sun was yellow. It was sufficient, but not accurate to capture the starlit fire within them.

Steve’s eyes reminded him of the Waitomo Caves in New Zealand. Blue, and exciting, and so vibrant they could light up the deepest crevices of a cave. His eyes sparkled in front of Tony, which should have been impossible in this weather, but yet they glittered in the overcast sky. Tony was entranced, awestruck. He had never seen the caves in person, but looking at Steve’s eyes, he didn’t think he needed to.

“If you’re not used to sitting for too long, your legs can get a bit wobbly, I should have warned you,” Steve said, his voice soft. He was _so_ close. Tony could smell the mint from his breath, could feel Steve’s words on his skin.

“It’s okay,” Tony said. “You caught me.”  
  
“Always. I won’t let you fall again.”

Which was, wow. Tony had often heard the term ‘breathless’ get thrown around, and he could apply it to some stages in his life. When Yinsen did the surgery on him, when Stane ripped the arc reactor from his chest, and when he finally replaced the Palladium, just to name a few – never, however, had he used the phrase to describe his own emotions. But there was no phrase that could better describe Tony in that moment. It was like something had crashed into Tony’s gut, physically knocking the wind out of him. For a moment, he had forgotten to breathe, startled out of it by Steve’s words.

And Steve had been completely serious. When he looked at Tony, it was like he wanted nothing more than to just hold him forever, to make sure he was never harmed again.

Which was –

 _Wow_.

“Eggs,” Tony said abruptly, jerking back awkwardly. “We need eggs, for pancakes.”

Steve blinked dramatically, as if he was just acknowledging the outside world. He pulled back suddenly, leaving Tony to mourn the loss of his warmth immediately. “Right, of course.”

Tony gave an awkward, solitary nod. “Lead the way solider.”

 

~*~

 

The farmers markets were unlike anything Tony had experienced before. The overcast sky did nothing to deter people from trekking out here, with throngs of people lining the pathways and gathered around stalls. Tony could see lovers wandering hand in hand, casually browsing, whilst others gossiped in huddles, clutching coffees around worn fingers.

The stalls themselves were selling a variety of goods that Tony hadn’t seen outside of the dreary supermarkets that were cool with indifference. Stalls with fresh fruit sat alongside stalls piled with fresh honey. The scent of fresh baked goods and unfamiliar spices filled the air, and Tony even spotted a corner stall that sold sausages, and only sausages. The gravel crunched under his shoes, and the wind that they were headfirst in earlier was blocked by the stalls, creating a nice, warm atmosphere.

Tony took a chance glimpse at Steve, who was observing the flamboyant scene with a grin on his face. Tony couldn’t help his own smile stretch onto his face. This was Steve’s place, this was something Steve knew, and apparently, found joy in.

Steve glanced down at Tony, grinning wider when he caught Tony looking. “Come on,” he said, and before Tony could respond, Steve had taken Tony’s hand in his.

They weaved their way through the hustle and bustle of the crowd, bumping into people, and stepping on toes. Tony tried to apologise to people as they passed, but they were always gone, or Steve and Tony had moved to far away before Tony had realised. Shopkeepers screamed out offers at the top of their voices, others were scribbling on chalkboard signs with haste, and in the centre were three rickety picnic tables that were filled with parents each trying to rally their children in.

It was loud, and vibrant, and there wasn’t a place that didn’t have _something_ going on, and Tony loved it.

Steve pulled them up to a stall that bordered two different stalls that each sold apples, and only apples. The woman who manned the stall was old, but not the kind you would pity with their feeble limbs and degrading mind, but the kind who could still run an army if given half the chance. At her age she should have had one foot six deep under, but if it weren’t for the deep lines in her face, which sagged like her skin was no longer connected to the rest of her body, Tony would think she was 60. If Tony had been wearing his glasses, he supposed FRIDAY would age her at 90. She stood tall, a bright smile gracing her features as she came to the counter. She moved with the grace of a dancer, when her gait should be askew with arthritis and the eyesight to match, but they shone with the wit and intelligence that would come from a headstrong woman who had lived a vibrant life.

“Steve!” She said, taking Steve’s hand in her own. “It’s been so long, we thought you’d carked it.”

Steve was grinning back, and it was in that moment that Tony realised he was friends with her, that he was most likely friends with every seller in this market.

Tony wasn’t surprised by that at all.

“Oh Emine, I would never die without letting you know first.”

“I should hope not,” she said and Tony only just noticed the hint of an accent in her voice, the playful tune in which she spoke. Tony couldn’t pick it exactly, it was soft, you had to be listening for it, but it almost seemed Turkish. “It’s not polite to keep an old woman wondering.”  
  
“Emine I’m at least 10 years older than you, if you’re old then I should be dancing with the dinosaurs.”

“Yet still just as attractive as you were in your 30’s,” She winked, before her gaze landed onto Tony. Her eyes showed recognition immediately, but she seemed to brush it aside like she brushed her long, grey pony tail behind her. “And who’s this?”

Tony stuck his hand out to shake hers, grateful for a moment that Steve was holding his left hand instead of his right. “Tony, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She rolled her eyes in good humour. “Now boy, I’ve been on this Earth for 94 years, I don’t have time for pleasantries anymore. What’s Steve brought you out here for?”  
  
“Eggs,” Tony said, marvelling at how steadfast this woman was. If he aged half as gracefully as she has, he’d be damn grateful. “I’m making pancakes.”  
  
Her eyes twinkled as she gazed back at Steve. “Eggs. You came all the way out here for some eggs?”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” Steve said.

She gestured around her booth, where dozens upon dozens of egg cartons sat. “Well, it’s not like you’re not spoiled for choice here.”  
  
“You have the best eggs Emine,” Steve said, taking a carton. “Of course we came all the way out for them.”

“Ah I see, so you only came so you could take my eggs out from under me.”

Steve laughed, handing her a 20 before Tony could even realise a transaction was taking place. “Of course not, you know that you’re my favourite person here, Emine.”

Emine locked eyes with Tony, her grin softening into a warm, genuine smile. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Tony gave a tentative smile back. What did she mean, that Tony was Steve’s favourite? In what context? Should Tony care?  
  
Well, that last one was redundant, Tony obviously cared.

He swallowed, what he was thinking was dangerous. He couldn’t think of Steve like that, he couldn’t let himself believe Steve thought of _him_ like that. It was too risky, their past to wrecked by pain. Steve was putting the eggs in a bag that just seemed to appear out of nowhere, oblivious to the interaction.

“But thank you for fanning my ego,” she said. “I left something in the back for you.”  
  
Steve perked up. “You didn’t.”  
  
With a wicked smirk, Emine turned and snuck round the back of the curtain f her stall, before pulling out a small take out container.

“You didn’t!” Steve exclaimed, a grin firmly rooted on his face.

“Home-made baklava for my favourite centurian,” she said, sliding it into his bag. “Free, of course.”  
  
Steve snorted. “I gave you a 20, technically I did pay for it.”  
  
“Well, you wouldn’t of had to.” Emine replied earnestly. “But, you can pay me back by going to see Greg, he’s been almost as worried as I have.”  
  
“Oh I was going to see him anyway, thank you Emine,” he turned to Tony. “Ready to go?”  
  
“Oh no Steve, I wanted to show Tony around a couple of stalls, the poor boy seems overwhelmed.”

Tony raised a suspicious eyebrow at her, which she only returned with a sharklike grin. Steve shrugged like that was perfectly natural. “Alright, I’ll be back in a bit,” then his hand slipped out of Tony’s and he was off and lost into the crowd.

Emine cocked her head to the side, her eyes roving over Tony as though she was assessing him. “I must say Mr. Stark, I did not take you as a man who would come to the farmers markets.”

Tony rubbed the back of his neck, not surprised at all that she knew exactly who he was, that’s what he got for ditching the disguise, anonymity was almost a foreign concept for Tony. “Truth be told, this is my first time.”  
  
Emine snorted. “You can tell.”  
  
“I’m that bad.”  
  
Emine smiled at him, the same warm smile from earlier. “No, you’re not. You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever seen Steve bring to the markets, you must have a special relationship with each other.”

Tony frowned. The first person? “Well that couldn’t really mean anything.”

Emine tsked. “Steve has come here every Saturday since 2012 – barring that awful business with the accords, and he had never brought another person with him. He’s spoken about friends, James, Sam – apparently I remind him of Natasha,” Tony snorted, yeah, he could picture that. “But never,” she continued, “has he brought them down. It’s like we’re his own personal separate world, _and he’s invited you in._ ”

“Every single one of us love Steve. We don’t all agree with every single one of his actions – again, that awful accords mess comes to mind, but he’s family, to us. I always make some my mother’s baklava for him, Greg always sets aside some cheese, Meryl always has some spare honey, Grace sets aside a new juice blend she thinks Steve will like, and Joan always makes him a hot chocolate when she sees him.

“You have to remember Tony, most of us are old enough to remember the war. My country was neutral during the war, but that does not mean the people were. We lived on the border near Bulgaria so even though we were safe in Turkey, we felt first-hand the effects of Bulgaria’s anti-Jew sentiments and laws, especially when they joined the axis in 1941.

“My family crossed the Black Sea into Russia, travelled hundreds of miles to the nearest airstrip, and boarded a plane to America. He doesn’t remember, but I was a child when I met Steve, and that day gave me hope that we would survive the war.

“So let me tell you this, Tony. When I say that man has not brought a person here before, that, that man has not shared this part of his life with another person, that is important. I don’t know what your relationship with his is like after the accords, or after the atrocity that was The Dusting, but you _mean_ something to him, and personally, I value that.”  
  
Tony swallowed, Emine’s words sinking in. This is the place Steve had started coming to, to connect with his past. Markets, bartering, people with shared memories, of course this would be his safe place, his happy place.

God, Steve had probably come here when he was his most lonely, his most outcasted, his most depressed – which Tony had certainly never helped with. The markets were wonderful, the sights, the smells, the vibrancy, one could forget the reason they came here in the first place, Tony certainly had, and he wasn’t even trying to forget.

And Steve had brought Tony with him, Steve had invited Tony to share this experience with him, _Steve had asked Tony to trust him._

Tony was about to respond when Steve returned, a bottle of juice in one hand, and a bag of flour in another. “Joan has started selling flour Tony!” He said, his eyes glittering in excitement. “We literally have everything you need.”

Tony gave a weak grin, hind mind still racing over what Emine had told him. “That’s great Steve, that’s really… great.”

 

~*~

 

Tony stared at the bike as it spluttered pathetically on the side of the road. He had to admit, when he woke up deciding he was going to have pancakes, he didn't see his morning turning out quite like this.

Steve propped his bike on the stand. “It just seems to be clutch cable and chain, they can often blow out at the same time if you’re not careful,” he said after careful inspection. “I can replace the chain, easy, I’ve got the parts in the saddlebags, but the clutch cable has snapped…” he looked sheepishly at Tony. “We might just have to go without.”  
  
“You want to drive home without a clutch?” Tony asked, incredulous.

“I’ve done it before.” Steve said, as if that made it any better.

Tony rolled his eyes. Ridiculous.

He pulled up from the tree he’d been leaning against. “Here, let me take a look.”

“Tony, this was the first time you’ve been on a motorbike.. right?” Steve asked, leaving out the fairly obvious _what do you know about motorbikes._

Tony forced down his blush, facing away from Steve so he couldn’t see. “Just because I’ve never been on a bike doesn’t mean I haven’t dabbled.” _Like when I looked for parts for you,_ he didn’t say. Steve never had to know about that stage of Tony’s life, it was _embarrassing_.

Even though Pepper had said it was sweet.

He scanned the bike, finding the cable adjustment nut. “You got a toolbox in there?” He asked, gesturing to the sadllebags.  
  
Steve rummaged through one of them, pulling up a cloth holder that was similar to Pepper’s travel makeup case. Tony had never been so meticulous with his tools, often just throwing what he needed into a box and hoping for the best. “What do you need?”

“The wrench, please.” Tony said, studying wear the snap was. Steve handed Tony the wrench, their fingers brushing each other slightly. Tony shivered, quickly taking the wrench and loosening the nut on the centre of the cable, and the clutch lever.

“Could you move the clutch plate?”

Steve nodded, taking his own tools and removing it. Tony leant over so he could loosen the locking nut.

“I’ve never done this on the side of the road before,” Steve commented absentmindedly.

“First time for everything,” Tony said, adjusting it counter clockwise until it was free of the clutch release. “Are there any other brackets keeping it in place?”  
  
“No, the snapped chain has pretty much loosened everything,” he said. “I’ll get onto repairing that and you can continue with this.”  
  
“Definitely,” Tony said.

They worked in harmony, repairing Steve’s bike. For the first time in what felt like forever, the silence between them wasn’t stifling, but rather, it was comforting. They were both consumed in their own little projects, but aware enough of the other person to give a helping hand without being called upon or asked.. It had been so long, Tony had forgotten what it was like to just casually work on something with Steve, he missed it, he missed _this_.

It was like Steve was an extension of Tony’s mind, and he was an extension of Steve’s. They moved with each other, rather than against, like they were in sync with the others currents, like they kites moving in the others wind, like they were in battle.

And wasn’t that a thought. That despite everything, they had always been in sync in battle. Tony dropped his wrench, he shouldn’t have been surprised by that, but he was, he had always been in sync with Steve. Which is why everything meant so much to him, the fighting, the comradery, the friendship, that wish for something more.

All of it.

Steve caught the wrench before it clattered to the ground and passed it back to Tony with a smile, before returning to the chain – and that was _everything_.

Tony sat dumbfounded, watching Steve work. He had long taken his jacket off and had rolled up his sleeves, exposing his taut, strong arms. He crouched beside the wheel, his jeans tight around his calves, leaving very little to the imagination. Tony couldn’t look away.

Tony had always known Steve was attractive, it was both an objective, and subjective fact of life. Steve had been made to be the physical peak of human perfection, so that would evidently mean he was the peak of attractive beauty. Steve had that kind of ruggard, apple pie sort of charm, the kind that made you want to ask softly if we were going to Scarborough Fair, and what will we do when they get there.

Well technically, Tony literally had done that, earlier, with the markets.

Because that was part of Steve’s draw, he was the kind of man you wants to remember, the kind of man you could grow old with an say, ah, yes, he was a true love of mine.

It was terrifying.

Steve’s gaze was glued to tightening the chain, his brow furrowed in concentration and his tongue poking out slightly. Tony felt himself smile, his cheeks rise in delight as he watched Steve at work. It was _adorable_. It was something Tony never wanted to cease to see.

Steve let out a sigh, and met Tony’s gaze. “I think I’m just about done, you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Tony breathed out, raking a hand through his hair to clear his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m finished.”

 

~*~

 

Tony bounded into the kitchen with the fervour of a toddler. Tony _loved_ pancakes, they were soft, fluffy, heavenly pillow bites that you could douse with maple syrup and throw blueberries inside of.

He pulled out a pan for Steve. “Here, so you can make your eggs.”  
  
“Actually,” Steve said. “Since we’ve gone to all this trouble to make pancakes, I was hoping I could have some too, and help make them?”  
  
“Oh,” Tony paused, letting the pan dangle in the air between us. Making pancakes. With Steve.

Making Pancakes With Steve.

Huh. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah – no, yeah. That could be fun.”

Steve grinned at Tony like that was the best news he had ever heard, and it warmed things inside Tony he had once told himself he’d never let Steve effect again. “What do you need?”

Tony gave a slow, tentative grin back. He was going to be making pancakes, _with Steve._

And somehow, that wasn’t exciting, like Tony thought it should have been, it was just… _right_. Like something they should have always been doing, like them making pancakes, doing something simple and domestic, something that required teamwork for the sake of teamwork and food, should always have been part of their existence.

“Right, do you want to put what we bought away – except the eggs and flour, and I’ll grab the rest of the ingredients?”

“Of course.” Steve said immediately, turning to the groceries they’d bought from the markets.

 

-/-

 

“That’s a terrible disguise,” Steve giggled when Tony arrived back in the kitchen, their ingredients haphazardly strewn on the kitchen bench.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall that you dress in the exact same way when disguised, or did you and Nat not traverse through a shopping centre in 2014?”

“I take offence to that,” Steve said with mirth. “I do seem to remember that just this morning I told you that Natasha dressed me, _you_ chose that.”

“Yeah,” Tony deadpanned. “Nat dressing you does not support your argument.”

“Why do you need a disguise anyway, we’re just going down the road.”

Tony winked. “It’s a surprise, obviously,” he gestured to the door. “C’mon we got places to be.”

“I’m still confused,” Steve said as he grabbed his jacket. “Why do we need to go down to the corner store again?”  
  
“Because someone,” he said out loud so she would be sure to hear. “Neglected to mention that we didn’t have buttermilk, a key ingredient in the pancake making process.”

If an AI could huff, FRIDAY just did. “If I’m honest Boss, I wasn’t sure your cravings for pancakes were this extreme.”

Steve snorted. “Oh FRIDAY, you haven’t seen Tony without pancakes before and it shows.”  
  
Tony raised an eyebrow. “You remember those days?”  
  
“Those times were in the tower were some of my best memories.”

Tony rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing to the door. “Besides,” he said. “There’s this girl there who I think you’d like to meet.”

Tony wasn’t sure if this was a good plan, or an insane one. He wasn’t sure he Steve would react, he didn’t want Steve putting up his walls, going all Captain America on Kamala. Whilst she’d probably enjoy it at first, she seemed like the kind of girl who would notice it was fake, and she deserved something better than that. At the same time, what if Kamala was overly… _eager_ to meet Steve, and made Steve uncomfortable. He didn’t want that for Steve either.

Was it even his place to do this, to set up a meeting between the two. He was going off the bat that she would like to meet Captain America. Five years ago, it would have been a sure fire idea that anyone would want to meet him, but now, well, Tony wasn’t so sure. As Emine had mentioned, Thanos and the Accords weren’t yet a distant memory.

No, no. This was a good idea, she would be thrilled to meet her hero, Steve would love to meet someone who respects him and is down to Earth, and Tony would get his buttermilk. Steve even had some cash on him.

It was the perfect plan.

Tony was greeted with an unusual sight when entered the store, tripping over the ledge slightly. A boy with wild black hair sat on the counter, holding various electronic parts. A girl with a chaotic halo of tight curls was fiddling with the bigger machine those electronic parts were separated from. She was sporadically sipping from a juice box that was almost the size of her head. Kamala was giving a small boy a piggy back whilst another boy – with his back turned, was doing some sort of intricate coding on the decades old computer.

At the ring of the bell, Kamala paused, and met his gaze, her eyes almost comically popping out of her skull. “Omg.”

The girl fiddling with the machine whipped a fruit box from her side, humming over the straw at her mouth as she followed Kamala’s gaze. “Oh, sorry guys, we’re just fixing the eftpos machine. It won’t be a minute.”

“Huh,” Steve said, which honestly, Tony related to.

“Okay Kamala this is really weird, it should be really simple to connect the eftpos machine to the financial spreadsheet, but it’s not working, and I can’t work it out.” The boy at the computer said – and Tony _knew_ that voice.

“Peter?”

The boy turned around, his hoodie flopping down comically around his neck. “Mr. Stark – Tony, sorry, still getting used to that,” he fumbled out of his chair, standing upright. “Hi.”  
  
Kamala gapped at Peter. “You _know_ Tony Stark?”  
  
The other girl physically spat out her juice, staring point blank at Tony. “I’m sorry, you’re _Tony Stark?”_  
  
The boy sitting next to her stared at Tony inquisitively. “Huh, the cap, the glasses, the hoodie, it’s almost like you’re just wearing your helmet.”

“Oh my god,” the girl said. “You’re _actually_ Tony Stark.”

“This is what you wanted to show me?” Steve asked, coming to his side.

Tony sighed, peeling off his hood, taking off his glasses, and shoving his cap on Steve’s head for good measure. “Technically, I only knew Kamala would be here.”

“Omg,” Kamala said again. “I wasn’t hallucinating this morning, what did I tell you guys!”

“Can we back up and talk about the fact that you _know_ Tony Stark.” The girl gave a pointed look towards Peter.

“Um, well, yeah,” Peter said. “My Stark Internship.”  
  
“You didn’t tell us that made you on a first name basis with the best Avenger.” The boy said.

“The best Avenger, huh.” Steve said with a smile, which well, honestly, made Tony feel kind of warm and fuzzy.

The _best_ Avenger.

Not that he would let it get to his head.

Kamala squinted at Steve for a moment, and Tony enjoyed how her face morphed from indifference, to confusion, to realisation in the span of two seconds. “You’re Captain America.” She breathed.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, his skin turning an adorable shade of red. “Steve, you can call me Steve.”  
  
“I stole his shield once.” Peter said.

Tony raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh, only Peter would forget about his secret identity. “Oh, you did kid, did you.”  
  
Peters eyes went wide, nodding along. “Fr-from the workshop, I meant. I wanted to see why Spiderman would try it.”

“Spiderman! He’s the best.” The little boy on Kamala’s shoulders cried.

Tony grinned. “He’s my favourite too.”

“I would be offended by that,” Steve said. “If I didn’t know first-hand how incredible Spiderman is.” Steve said, oblivious to Peter and his identity.

Peter, who Tony noticed was furiously blushing, spun away so he could face the computer. “Yeah, there’s been no improvement, we might have to wait a bit for the eftpos machine to reconnect, once Riri gets it back together, that is.”

“Yeah, actually Peter, why are you here?” Tony asked, genuinely curious, because not that he didn’t love the kid – he did, but he hadn’t been expecting to see Peter late on a Sunday morning in a corner store down Fifth Avenue.

“Oh,” the girl said. “Kamala called me in because the eftpos machine was broken, and Sam has been acting as my apprentice this weekend so I dragged him along.”

“Well I really only came for the superheros.” The boy, Sam ~~maybe~~ , interjected.

“And I was baby-sitting Miles – it’s a favour for a friend, person – thing” Peter said and Tony smiled over how he stumbled over his words, Tony was definitely going to be investigating this friend/person/thing later. “And he asked me to cut Miles hair, and I don’t know the first thing about cutting hair-”

“But my mum has always cut my hair,” The girl said. “So Peter called me to ask and then Kamala called-”

“So Peter came along too,” Kamala said. “Because he’s got a theory that part of the reason it’s not working is because of how it’s connecting to the computer.”  
  
“Which I agree with, but obviously I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to cannibalise the eftpos machine.” The other girl, Riri, Tony assumed, said.

“Wait, son,” he said, looking at the boy on the table, and Tony almost rolled his eyes because ‘son’, _really?_ “What are your names?”

Kamala almost stumbled on her feet, coming up to take Steve’s hand, before thinking better of it and supporting Miles on her back. “I’m Kamala.”  
  
The kid sitting on the shopping counter waved. “Sam, hi.”

“And I’m Riri.” The girl said with a grin.

“And you must be Peter then?” Steve asked, and Peter ran a hand through his hair, his face flushed. It made sense to Tony, this was _technically_ the first time Peter had met Steve.

At least according to Steve.

“Yeah, yes. I am – sir.”

Steve winced slightly, but it was barely perceptible unless you could recognise it, which Tony could.

It had been a look Tony had seen a lot in his life, but not a lot recently, which was… A lot of things really. “Please,” Steve said. “Call me Steve.”

“This is so cool.” Sam said, elbowing Riri.

Riri ducked her head behind her hair. She seemed to hiss something back at him which Tony couldn’t hear, but was evidently funny if Steve’s reaction was anything to go by. Which reminded Tony…

“Wait, apprentice? Sam, how exactly are you an apprentice.”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” Sam said, “Riri’s building-”

Riri leapt out of her seat, planting a hand on Sam’s mouth. “No!” She jerked it away suddenly, a look of utter revulsion on her face. “Did you seriously just lick my hand?”  
  
Kamala giggled. “Riri is building something pretty incredible, Sam’s helping.”  
  
Tony was immediately intrigued, he loved meeting these kids who didn’t just have the potential to change the future, but already were. Harley, Peter, Shuri, these kids were the way towards the future, and Tony could only gawk and watch as they built from the ground up, doing things Tony could only dream of. Tony just felt blessed that he got to watch, that he got to say that somehow, he had _some_ sort of impact on them, however small it was. “Oh that’s incredible, what’re you building?”

Riri bit her before grinning. “Actually, I’m trying my hand at my own iron armour, you leave a lot of scrap metal around Mr Stark, what with all the aliens you fight, and explosions and stuff. I’m not up to the nanite stage yet, but I’ve got a pretty solid baby in my garage.”

Tony was, well shocked was an understatement. “How old are you?”  
  
“Sixteen?” She said. “I get most of my supplies from MIT so-”

“Wait,” Tony breathed, excitement bubbling. “You’re Riri Williams?”

Riri furrowed her brow. “Yeah, I am.”

Tony was almost star struck, he had heard about Riri earlier last year when she had been accepted in MIT just a year older than he had been. He had wanted to keep an eye on her, but realised shortly that, that would have been creepy, so decided not to.

And in that time, she had created an iron man armour, _at sixteen._ She was-

“Incredible. You’re incredible, I built my first armour in my 30’s, and you’ve done it at _sixteen_.”

Riri frowned slightly. “Well actually, you don’t leave any plans around for it Mr. Stark, so I’ve been reverse engineering

“You-.” Tony was at a loss for words. “You’re sixteen and you’re reverse engineering my armour. That’s astonishing!”  
  
Riri was practically beaming at Tony. “You think so?”  
  
“God yes,” Tony said. “I heard about your admittance last year, Dean Bahng and I are friends – you were almost as young as I was!”

“Yeah Riri is amazing Tony,” Peter said grinning, and Tony loved that about Peter. He was so unconditionally supportive of the people he cared about. “I’ve seen some of the stuff she’s made, it’s awesome.”

“And we’re all still in school!” Miles said with a bright smile.

Kamala beamed. “Which is hard at times, but we’re all getting through it.”

“No that’s important too,” Tony said. “It’s important to go through life at your own pace, to not let people rush you, _and_ to not let people hold you back.”

“You just have to stay true to yourself, true to your heart, and you’ll excel.” Steve added, and Tony grinned at him.

“Tony Stark and Steve Rogers are giving us life advice, I never thought this would happen in my life ever.”

“Wait Peter, I thought you were only friends with MJ and Ned?” Tony said.

“Oh!” Peter said. “I came in here at one point last year after I left the mansion, and Kamala and I pretty much geeked out for two hours.”  
  
“And we’ve been friends ever since.” Kamala said.  
  
“And then she introduced us to him.” Sam said. “Ned’s awesome man.”  
  
“Could we – maybe, take a selfie? Please?” Kamala asked.

So they bought the buttermilk and took a variety of selfies, individual ones, them as pairs, group ones, every single combination. Peter even took a selfie with Steve – because, again, Steve technically hadn’t met Peter yet.

Steve and Tony stuck around for another half hour, hanging out and helping with the eftpos machine. Well – Tony helped with the eftpos machine and Steve played with Miles, going through the little art book Miles carried everywhere with him.

When they had left, Tony had three more numbers, and a promise that he would watch out for Riri in MIT, and see the suit in person.

Steve tapped the cap on his head on their walk back to the mansion. “You were amazing with those kids, Tony.”

Tony looked up in confusion. “You think?”  
  
“Are you kidding?” Steve asked. “They had pretty much forgotten I was there, it was all about you. Hell, that girl made a suit because of how much you had inspired her.”

Tony smiled at that, he had made them happy, he had engaged with those kids, and now he was what, friends with them, a mentor of sorts?

Holy crap. He had just engaged with four new kids, just because he had gone down to see one of them smile. He frowned at his past interactions with children and thought that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t trends, they were flukes.

The girl scouts for example, could have easily been explained away that there weren’t any waivers for the experiments, Tony was cautious, of course, he would never want to hurt a kid. But Tony knew he could get carried away, an innocent fire experiment for him, could be a lawsuit waiting to happen for the girl guides.

And Peter – Peter called him by his first name, Peter was prepared to joke and have fun with Tony, Peter, sweet wonderful Peter, who Tony had caused to die, and come back to life, who had been his rock after Siberia, and had helped him grow into someone he would be honoured for Peter to be proud of. Tony had always had that, regardless of anything else.

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I.”

 

~*~

 

Tony collapsed at the kitchen island beside Natasha, who looked down slightly at Tony, then back at her StarkPad. “Where were you both?”  
  
“Getting ingredients for pancakes,” Steve said, placing the buttermilk in front of Tony. “Ready to crack these eggs and crack out these pancakes?”

“You’re hilarious,” Tony said, but he slid out of his chair nonetheless, because he did not spend 4 hours out of his day getting everything he needed for pancakes to just _not have_ pancakes.

Making pancakes was all Tony could think of. He saddled up next to Steve mentally mixed and matched ingredients like he did when building, adding just the right baking powder to help the dough rise, and a third of a cup of buttermilk instead of normal milk to help kick start the baking powder and make the pancakes more tender and fluffy.

Steve rolled over two eggs his way, and placed both brown sugar and normal sugar beside him. Tony added them immediately, not questioning how Steve knew what he needed, just going along with it. Tony had realised earlier that he and Steve were a clockwork, well-oiled machine.

“Oh you were right Steve,” Tony said. “Emine’s eggs are perfect.”  
  
Steve grinned. “There’s baklava after too.”

Tony slid the bowl to Steve. “Alright solider, put that serum to use and whisk that up.”  
  
Steve nodded and dutifully took the bowl, whisking away, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in just that wonderful adorable way that made Tony’s heart melt. Oh.

 _Oh_.

Tony was in love with Steve.

How had Tony not known earlier, how had he not realised it. He stood there dumbfounded as Steve whisked the pancake batter, barely taking stock of it as he stared at this dorky, frustrating, incredible man.

A man who had invited Tony on the motorbike he had devoted all his spare time and energy too.

A man who had invited Tony to the world he kept closed off from the rest of his life.

A man who had forgone his eggs to spend time with Tony, to make pancakes with Tony.

A man who trusted him, and who Tony trusted in return.

A man who had eyes that reminded Tony of the sun, who made Tony believe he had seen and travelled to every important place in the universe, for he could see it all in his eyes.

A man who had noticed and acknowledged Tony’s relationship with kids, that he was worthy and good enough to be a mentor.

A man who looked at Tony like he was the only thing worth looking at, who smiled like all was right in the world when Tony showed the slightest indication that he was happy.

A man who – a man who Tony loved.

And Steve was magnificent.

From the depth to his eyes, to the gentleness in his expressions, to the kindness in his voice. He was breathtaking in his generous touch, to the intensity of his sincere honesty, to the way he held Tony, as though there was nothing in the world Steve would rather hold, would rather protect. Perhaps this is what people meant when they said Steve was chivalrous, that he was a gentleman. Not one of trite politeness, obligation, or duty, but of one with an incredible soul.

He was beautiful.

How his eyes sparkled, up for an adventure, ready to straddle the motorbike and never let go. How he acted, the loyalty he invoked in the people around him, how Tony wanted to stand by Steve’s side always. How Steve’s very soul seemed to excite Tony, and how Tony had forgotten to wear his mask around Steve, had forgotten they existed at all.  
  
Hell, Tony had let Steve drive him.

Because Tony loved Steve, and was so willing to give Steve his hear, knowing that Steve would keep his heart safe.

Because that’s how it worked, that was how it always worked with Steve.

Steve must have realised that Tony had been staring, because he finished spooning the pancake batter in the heated pan, put the bowl down, and turned to face Tony, concern paramount in every muscle of Steve’s face. “Tony, are you okay?”  
  
“I love you.” Tony blurted out, before realising what he had even said.

And then he realised what he had said.

Shit.

Tony watched Steve’s face fall, and his heart beat through his rib cage like it was a rabbits.

Shit, shit, _shit_.

“You love me.” Steve said, his voice betraying no emotion. Tony stared at Steve intently, Steve’s tone may have given nothing away, but his eyes were another thing. They were wide, consuming Tony whole. They were raving over Tony’s face, as if trying to find something.

“I love you.” Tony said, more sure of himself. There was no point backing away.

“For how long?” Steve whispered.

And that was the question, wasn’t it. How long had Tony loved him? He tried to think of an answer, he did, but he couldn’t think of an exact time where it wasn’t true, where it wasn’t the case. It was perpetual, he had just been to blind to see.

“Always.”

Steve swallowed, then marched towards Tony. Before Tony could react Steve’s lips were on his in a blinding kiss. Tony was frozen for a moment, limp in Steve’s arms, and then the world around them fell away, and Tony responded with haste. Tony wound his arms around Steve neck, pulling Steve against him, as though Steve would disappear at a moment’s notice. Steve’s arms wrapped around Tony’s torso, tethering him to the Earth, keeping Tony grounded, keeping Tony safe. Tony’s mind was nothing but static white noise, with no purpose but to get as close to Steve as he could, to share everything of himself with Steve, and take everything of Steve in return. Everything Steve was willing to give Tony would take with fervour, and Steve was the same. Tony was addicted, _Tony was in love._

Steve was the first to pull away, resting his forehead on Tony and taking heavy, ragged breaths.  Tony could feel Steve’s heartbeat, a crazy erratic thrumming that matched Tony’s own. Steve, with his bruised lips and flushed face, stared at Tony like he was the only thing in the universe that he would ever care about existing. “I love you too, Tony, always.”

“If you too are too busy eating each-other’s faces off, are you going to eat these burnt pancakes or can I have them?” Sam asked, who had apparently just come inside.

Tony laughed, letting his head fall into Steve’s chest.

When he had decided he wanted pancakes this morning, Tony had to admit, he didn’t see himself here, with Steve.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! 
> 
> If it takes your fancy, you can hit me up on [tumblr](https://lesty-xx.tumblr.com/), or just leave a comment below if you'd like ~
> 
> Have an amazing day =D


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